The Heavenly Place
by Smokestar
Summary: Goutu is a wolf pup, living in the desert scrub with a special gift: Wings. Alone and separated from his pack, Goutu begins an epic journey to a heavenly place his mother always spoke of, and beyond. Will he, a tiny wolf pup manage to find it, or will he parish?
1. Chapter 1

**Before it changed (Prolouge)**

Sometimes when I look up at the night sky into my past, I remember the times before I was left behind. The constellations, once of stories of the ancients, tell my stories, of what seems like ancient to me.

That was a long, long time ago. And I was a very young pup. But the memories, both of paradise and hell, are engraved into me, like the markings of a story bone.

In those days, I lived in a small pack. But my pack was no ordinary one. We were dire wolves, yes. But my homeland, my birthplace, was in the mountainous scrublands. It sounds like wastelands, but I've seen many places in my long life. None were as beautiful as the arid hills, red as the morning sky. Incredible, dangerous, mountains, cliffs and canyons. There were no place that sounded more like home to me.

It wasn't just our vast territory that set us apart from other wolves. Simple things. We varied more in color, we were slightly smaller, (although ten times more stealthy, if you ask me.) but most importantly, Lupus himself blessed some of us with wings. Wings, magnificent as an eagle's.

Wings came in handy for the lucky ones that were born with it. The mountainous terrain was dangerous without it practically being a desert. Many died from falls, drowning, being crushed or trapped, buried alive, and more falls. My family bloodline was fortunate to poses such a gift.

I spent a mere two months in those scrublands. Yet I remember every detail. My two rambunctious brothers, my loving mother, our noble leader Owen, the laughter, the terror, the agonizing heat, the steep hills and fatal falls, how the course red sand felt against my paws, the clear blue sky, bluer than the ocean itself. The lazy days, spent underneath the shade of the rare trees at the mountaintops. The irresistible unique taste of the scrub geese and clay hares, which my mother would specially catch for us. The way my brothers Erik and Dante and I would scuffle for a juicy mouthful. And the cool, dark starry nights. We would snuggle up, the four of us in our cozy den, gazing up at the night sky. Pointing and exclaiming at constellations, retelling stories of unknown past. And when my brothers were asleep, my mother would wash my tiny ears, pull me closer, and whisper to me,

"Listen, my little eagle. You are strong. You are capable. You will do great things. Like your kin, you will spread your wings, glide, and take flight into your destiny. Your destiny, your story, my son, I sense will be a powerful one. But remember this. Should great danger and sorrow aim, shoot, and cast you from the sky, look for the heavenly place you will find."

"But mother," I would say, "Here, with the pack, and Dante and Erik, isn't here a heavenly place?"

She would smile, pure love flowing from her blue eyes, "You will understand what your heavenly place is when your older. Far more older than a young pup like you. But always know, always remember, no matter where this place is, no matter how far it seems, I will be there, waiting for you. Always."


	2. Chapter 2

Part 1, The Red Desert

Chapter 1, Alone

Goutu sat at the top of the sandy mountain, the blazing red desert before him.

It all happened so fast, the sandstorms, the cave-in, and then abandoned by his father. His father, Coden, became the pack leader after the first sandstorm. More than half of the wolves were dragged away by the powerful, ruthless waves, including the honorable leader Owen. After this, deadly sandstorms became regular, and Goutu's family was torn apart. Not just by sand and wind, but by pride and selfishness.

Soon, the pack became very weak. Coden forced the oldest and disabled to leave. Goutu, being the only pup, stayed longer. But by that point it was only a matter of time before Goutu was banished.

And now, he was by himself. Neglected. Abandoned.

Alone.

What would he do? Water was nearby, but without his pack, Goutu couldn't hunt for himself. But, on the other hand, he had never tried. Curiously, he lifted his fuzzy muzzle into the air. He scented sand, dust,the river, more sand, but no prey. Goutu knew that a very small pup like him couldn't go long without food. Lupus, he had just been weaned!

Goutu took a long, deep breath. If he wanted to survive, he would have to calm down, and think. Where would mother go to find prey?

The river!

The thought popped into his head like a balloon.

Anxiously, he scrambled down the steep crumbling mountain side down the ravine, his eyes on the blue path that curved like a snake.

However, this task proved to be harder than Goutu had thought. He carefully had to leap from tiny ledge to tiny ledge, with the sand constantly collapsing beneath his paws. The sand and pebbles would fall ungracefully, then violently thrust into the ravine.

After a few minutes of climbing down the ravine, Goutu could feel earth growing steeper as he crawled lower, and lower. More pebbles and even larger rocks tumbled down to the water, their pitters and patters becoming loud, unnerving thuds and cracks. His little heart lurched every time the sand and gravel beneath him tumbled away. With every step it became harder and much more dangerous.

Goutu was barely halfway to the bottom, but still had a few hundred feet to go. By now the poor pup was clinging to the ledge, placing one paw in front of the other. Normally, the wolves would easily glide down to the river with their wings. Goutu now realized how he had taken that for granted. Getting to the river was becoming more and more of a chance of brutal death. If Goutu were to fall at the this height, he would more than likely crash into the boulders, cliffs and ledges below. And even if he happened to land into the river, he would either drown under the powerful current or die from the impact to the water. Goutu was in true danger.

Then came the winds.

He was able to hold on, but the little pup had horrible experiences with sandstorms. Panic began to set in.

I have to! I have to! I have to get down!

Terrified thoughts became yips.

"Mama! Help! Help me!" his squeals of terror were drowned out at the sandy winds and the red dust battered his face. There was no mama to help him now. He would have to solve this himself.

Thinking quickly, carefully let himself slip down the nearly vertical wall. The winds kept him from being cast to his death. Quicker than he imagined, Goutu was sitting safely of on the riverbed. No feeling felt better than the cool water and dusty winds wisping his face as he curled up to protect his eyes. The glorious relief felt stronger than the fear he felt moments before. Almost as quickly as it started, the winds died down and the river calmed down in relief. Eagerly, Goutu bounced up wearily as he lapped the cloudy water from the river. It tasted like drinking sand, but he needed it.

After his drink, Goutu gazed at the orange dusky sky.

"Mother?" he yipped, "Did you see that? I did it! I survived!"

For the young pup, it was a great accomplishment. But as he found a small cave, gathered some wool, and fell into a dreamy sleep, he knew little of his future ordeals, pain, conflicts, and sweet, sweet victories. But for now, he slept. He slept knowing his mother's spirit was still wrapped around him through the dark night. Her sweet words echoing in his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Aonair

Early the next morning, Goutu awoke with his stomach rumbling. He hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. As he crept from his sandy little den, breezes and gentle water brushed his fur.

It was hard to scent prey with the river, but Goutu did scent something. Yes, upriver he could barely smell it, but the river carried the scent of a dead…well, Goutu wasn't sure.

Happily, the little pup trotted up the narrow riverbed. Oh, it was such a wonderful feeling, having the wind in your fur, feeling like absolutely nothing can take you down. He that felt the weight of his body no longer slowed him down.

 _Is this what flying feels like?_ He wondered.

His mother always liked to tell him that flying was the best thing in the world, oh, and what did she say? Something about "feeling it in your marrow," whatever that meant.

With each bound, and with each leap, he felt his strides growing longer and his legs flexing even more. He was going into full sprint! The natural curve of the ledge carried Goutu higher above the gushing water.

Soon, Goutu noticed a huge gap in the ledge. Longer than a full-grown wolf! But he didn't slow down. Nothing would. He simply braced himself for the jump.

The closer he grew to the gap, the longer it became. He had no choice.

Without hesitation, he swiftly spread out his very, very young and short wings. He certainly couldn't glide with them yet. But he had an idea.

Right before he got to the edge, he pulled his wings up, pushed hard off the side, and power-flapped. For a glorious moment, he felt free, in midair. It was his very first power flap flight! A big moment for young pups, especially when they were only a few months old.

But then that moment ended, as quickly as it started. He sunk, much faster then he imagined. Ungracefully, he hit the ground on the other side, pain shooting through his soft paws. He shrieked, his pathetic squeals echoing off the walls.

Lesson one of living alone: Sharp rocks and pebbles do not feel good on your paws.

Goutu rolled around, crying hysterically. It hurt! All he wanted was comfort. All he wanted was his mother and Dante and Erik! He wanted his father, his own father's acceptance! Goutu bawled, tears rolling down his face. But then, he stopped. He looked around.

 _Stop crying! Stop crying you baby! You'll get yourself killed!_ He screamed at himself.

Calmly, like his mother would if he got hurt, he inspected his bruised pads. They stung like crazy, but the skin wasn't broken. If he could only get to the den, he could eat and rest and drink. Then he could cry like a puppy.

But for now, he would wipe his tears away and be a wolf, not a pup.

 _I'm proud of you, my love._ Said a mysterious voice. Goutu's ears perked up. He looked around. He sniffed the air. No one was there.

It must have been his imagination.

It took hours, it was painful, but he managed to drag himself the two miles, feeling more dead than alive. As the sky turned to the color of blueberries and the air cooled, he approached the den, a big black crack. The cold, dark, dusty den looked like a heavenly paradise to Goutu.

 _Heavenly,_ the word echoed in his mind. Is this cave the place? His mother's words replayed in his mind, _But should sorrow and great danger aim, shoot, and cast you from sky, look for the heavenly place you will find._

Hopefully, he galloped into the entrance, scattering from sight. He sniffed every corner, exploring his potential "heavenly" new home. It was much bigger than he expected, with inner dens and dead end tunnels. Lucky for him, there was a half-eaten mountain goat, and although it was rotting and smelled like decaying flesh, Goutu took a bite, for the good of it. But the gnawing hunger remained, rumbling about.

He found a nest in oene of the dens, the shape of a wolf. He sniffed it as hard as he could, trying to find whom had once owned the den.

 _It smells like a lot of different wolves were here at once, but there's only one wolf shape. Curious._

To his horror, he found blood stains near the nest, with paw prints in it. The rusty smell of the blood made him gag. What had happened here?

Goutu scented and sniffed, trying to uncover the scene. It didn't seem like a murder, but a very small, very faint scent of death lingered. The life taken must of small, even smaller than his own.

As he searched, he found many startling scents. A pup's, Owen's, his father's, his own…

 _Wait, WHAT?_

Yes. Sure enough, his own newborn scent laid underneath the blood and fur. _Was he…could it be?_

Goutu felt the warm, milky scent override his senses. Slowly, drowsiness forced his eyelids to droop, and tiredness tugged at his limbs. Slowly, he made his way to the nest, curled up, and closed his blue eyes. The stinky moss and dusty wool was disgusting, but Goutu was yet to discover another scent, beside his father's and his own.

As he drifted to dreamland, he decided that this was the day he made a new beginning. This was the day he would leave behind his old identity in his distant dreams

 _Yes,_ he thought. _Today I leave behind my old identity and begin a new. From this moment, I am not Goutu, but Aonair ._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

 **Sea of Stone**

Goutu, now Aonair, woke with a start. Ears perked, he glanced around his den, observing the scene, untouched from the night before. He got up, shaking the bits of wool from his thick tawny fur. Sunlight spilled onto the jagged edges of the cave floor. Once again, he examined the bloodstains, the nest, and the mysterious scents. Ever since he had found the cave, he hadn't found another any other clues. Why was there blood? Why was his father there? Why was _he_ there?

Aonair had now been in the den for two days. Water was plentiful from the river, but hunger was creeping into him. His stomach often growled louder than the river itself. And a rotting carcass was no meal for a pup. In fact, every bite of it seemed to make the hunger grow. But Aonair was determined to know what happened in what he had called, the Blood Den.

Eagerly, Aonair trotted over and sniffed the blood. It was oddly familiar.

 _I feel like I've smelled this scent before, but it feels so far away, in my marrow._

 _In my marrow._

What was a marrow? Was it where feelings came from? That's how his mother always seemed to use it. Like before a hunt, or when she was angry, or before she took flight...

 _Flight._

"Flight," the word felt smooth and beautiful off his raspy tongue. He yearned the wonderful feeling, the feeling of flight. He sat down, staring at the exit. What was he _doing?_ He should be searching for a life, a new beginning. Yet, here he was, spending days after day dwelling on something that supposedly happened to him and his old pack? By changing his name he was supposed to leave his old identity behind, and start a new. Staying here wasn't going to do that.

Without hesitation, Aonair bounded from the den, soaking in the morning light.

 _Today,_ he thought, _my life begins._

He looked up at the rusty red rocky wall above the den. It was studier and rockier than the wall he had climbed down several days before. His tawny tail wagged in anticipation.

 _Nothing will stop me. This will be a breeze!_

Three long hours later, Aomair placed a weary paw over the edge of the ravine. Exhausted, he hauled himself over the edge. His small, bony limbs shook as he stumbled onto the edge, the harsh sun burning down on him. Naturally, he closed his eyes when the light hit, blind to the world before him. But when he opened his eyes, a paradise was drawn before him. Instead of red, endless sandy hills, Aonair saw the ocean! Islands! _Trees!_ To the north, tall grassy hills stood defiantly. To the west, vast oceans spread beyond his sight. Behind him, the joys of the scrublands grew forgotten.

His crusty frown drew into a huge, pup-like smile. Being the three-month old pup he was, he laughed. He danced. He howled to Lupus. The sand he kicked burst into the wind, carried by the winds into the blue sky. These past few weeks of living alone were extremely ordeal. But he cried out his thanks, for his small, miserable life. Because under some miracle, with some extreme luck, he was still alive!

He spread his young wings, wishing he could glide after the breezes and the birds. For a moment, he stood completely still. One question still lingered.

"What now?" he said aloud, hoping someone that wasn't there could hear.

It felt great, whenever he spoke to himself. Aonair was a pack wolf. He wasn't meant to be alone.

It had been nearly a week since he had last seen another wolf. He was a pup. He was meant to be with his siblings, his pack surrounding him.

 _No use grieving that now,_ he thought.

Another cool breeze swept past his ears. They hardly made a whisper, but they seemed to whisper to him.

 _My love, there is a heavenly place in which you will find._

"That's it!" he yipped, hardly aware of his own voice.

There was no place for a starving pup left in the desert. It was time to find his heaven, his paradise.

 _Hmm, but where do I go from here?_

He glanced around himself, slightly confused. His gaze landed on the islands offshore. Perhaps he could go from there? The grassy hills in the distance might lead to a new mainland, without the scrublands. But maybe following the islands was a better option. If there was a bigger island out there, it might be a good place to start.

Aonair settled for a medium-sized island, only a river-length away from the desert mainland. But he knew it might be difficult to climb down.

 _Maybe,_ he thought, _I could glide down..._

This would be risky, for Aonair's wings lacked in proper flight feathers. But, if he were to mess up or free fall, the bay below might be able to break his fall...

Steady, he braced himself back, and crouched down into a flight jump position. Instinctively, his wings spread out.

His yellow eyes blazed with the fire in his heart.

 _I can do this._

Stealthily, he sprung.

He rose.

He flew.

He fell.

The little wolf frantically flapped, try to catch the wind. But he was falling too fast. The salty water of the bay grew closer and closer.

CRASH

Little Aonair crashed into the surface, white wisps of water flying in all directions. He felt a jolting _crack_ in his front paw. He withered in the water, squealing, gasping for air! The impact was a lot harder than he had imagined, as if he had landed in a sea of stone!

To Aonair's surprise, there was a large fish underneath his one good paw. He regained his sense of direction, grabbed the dead fish, and doggie-paddled to the surface. More pain exploded in his left paw when he tried to use it to paddle. In pain, he tucked his injured paw in as he swam to the shore of the island. When Aonair was able to stand, he hobbled to shore with his lucky catch dripping from is jaws. He looked around. The island wasn't very big, but it was long, had several trees and a couple of freshwater pools. It was covered in dry grasses and bushes.

Pain throbbed miserably through his whole leg as he settled underneath a bush. Cautiously, he took a look at it.

His paw wasn't bleeding, but it was bruised to touch and hurt as if it was ripped apart on the inside. Using a technic his mother taught him if he was injured, Aonair felt the line to were the bone should be. Around the injury, it the bone felt...weird were it should have felt smooth.

 _It must be a broken bone,_ he thought.

"Oh no," he muttered.

Fear crawled into his heart. If his paw was broken, he could travel. He couldn't swim.

He couldn't hunt.

Aonair relaxed when he remembered something his mother told him, over a month ago.

"Mommy! My leg hurts!" cried Erik.

Holliet, his mother, turned to her one-month old pup.

"What happened?"

"I fell!"

Holliet was a small tawny wolf, her scrawniness showing as she rushed to her pup's aid.

"Momma? Is...is my leg broken?" sniffed Erik. The panic faded from Holliet's eyes.

"No, dear. It's just bruised."

Erik was dark gray, like his father. And Dante was a misty dark gray, with flecks of Holliet's tawny fur.

And Aonair, back then was Goutu, was a large tawny pup with a splash of dark gray on his back. He had the sturdy build of his father and the pelt of his mother. Coden's strength and Holliet's spirit and agility. The pack believed back then Goutu had much potential.

Goutu and Dante trotted over to see what had happened to their brother.

Dante's concerned look remained, "What if his leg _was_ broken?"

"Well, you're all very young. If you did break a bone, you needn't worry. Daddy and I would take good care of you until you were better. Besides, puppy bones heal faster than adults.

The three little pups relaxed.

 _Puppy bones heal faster than adults._

Then, Aonair hungrily dived into the fish. It wasn't like anything he had ever tasted, but this was no time to be picky.

As he enjoyed his long-needed meal, he wondered. Aonair could smell that there was plenty of fish in the pools. But how long would it last him? What would he do if he ran out of food?

He decided this wasn't something to worry about right now. For now, he had survived another day, despite the fall and the hunger. He wasn't shivering, starving in a ravine cave anymore. He was warm and dry, snuggled under a bush, gulping down the last of his meaty meal.

 _For now, all that matters is that I'm alive._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

 **The Island of the Pygrats**

Life of the island wasn't as bad as Aonair thought it might be.

He usually didn't ever feel too hot, since he could cool down on the beach whenever he wanted.

Really, before the fall into the sea, Aonair had never known of anything besides life in the Scrub Mountains. Before, he would spend free time in a pointless attempt to cool himself down. Now, all it took was a wade in one of the pools, and then the lingering exhaustion and heat would die. Aonair thought it was...different...a good kind of different. At first he necessarily didn't like this change, seeing as he had spent his whole life in the scrubland.

Every morning he would wake up to, usually, a pleasant morning. Seeing the sunrise from the ocean was more beautiful and Aonair had ever imagined. The purple twilight, red-pink dawn, and then the golden sunrise. The colorful lights always reflected off the surface. The morning brought songbirds, too. They fed off the plentiful seeds and insects. To Aonair, the songs they sung to the sun were beautiful, and made him want to prance in the daylight.

Throughout noon and late afternoon, Aonair would use the shade of the trees and pools to cool down. It was very comfortable, living on the mostly sunny islands, with ponds to wade in and rocks to bask on.

There were lots to eat as well. The ponds swarmed with small fish, and the shores held clams and shellfish. The birds were plump, as well. But Aonair couldn't bear killing them, only to end their beautiful songs. So he left the birds and their eggs alone. But most importantly, small, pig-like creatures roamed the island. They were quite hideous, in Aonair's opinion. Brown, hairy, and rat-like. They had dark beady eyes and outstretched slimy snouts. However, despite their appearance, they were a great food source. He called them Pygrats.

As the day began to cool down, magnificent colors would spread across the sky. A whole new spectrum, he had never known. From salmon pink to a dark tawny. But then, the sun would sink, far below the horizon. It sunk beneath the grassy hills in the distance.

Aonair thought this island was wonderful. But he couldn't stay here forever. It wasn't his destiny. Once his paw healed, he knew it would be time for him to head west, to follow the sun. Every evening at sunset, Aonair would wonder.

 _Where does the sun come form? Where does it go? How do two worlds so different co exist so close to one another? Where do I, a lone pup, stand in all of it?_

And then, when the stars came to light up the void of nighttime, he would think of his life just a few months ago.

 _That was Goutu, but I'm Aonair now._ And then he would sleep, to wake to a new world in his mind.

It wasn't just his drive for an adventure that urged him to leave. The prey would run out, eventually. Aonair thought he was living in heaven, but in reality, going west was his only chance of survival. The shellfish numbers would slim. The fish would migrate. The Pygrats and other small animals would either leave or die, sooner or later. But, Aonair would forever remember this island as the first step in his journey, as the Island of the Pygrats


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

 **The Fire**

Aonair had been at the Island of the pygrats for two moons, waiting for his paw to heal.

And now, after all that time, he could put some weight on it.

It was a breezy, sunny day. As usual. Aonair held his head up to the wind, feeling the mist of the waves as it crashed against the rocks. Feeling the blaze of the sun as it beat down on his tawny head. He was definitely going to miss this place.

The plump pygrats and fish tasted better than any scrawny hare in the desert he had ever eaten. He wouldn't forget the cool shade of the trees, nor the satisfying winds and tides. He wouldn't forget the boulders, and the way the white waves would crash into it, spraying gallons of water upward. The way the algae and barnacles clung to it as it constantly dipped beneath the surface. The way snails and crabs would scurry up and down the beach. Nor would he forget how he came upon it, with his broken paw.

But now, Aonair didn't have to worry about the declining pygrats, and the lower number of fish in the pools.

Yes, the island of the pygrats was a lovely place. But he couldn't live here.

He had a destiny to fulfill.

One afternoon, Aonair decided to lap around the entire island. The trek was about 2.5 miles. Halfway through, he decided to take a water break. The blue drops felt cool on his tongue. After the drink, he splayed his agile body across a boulder, soaking in the warm sunlight.

This place was amazing. Warm days, starry nights, and the constant song of the ocean.

The scents where great, too. The smell of the grass, ocean, pollen, smoke...

 _What?_

Suddenly alarmed, Aonair jumped to his paws, hackles raised and ears pricked. He sniffed the air. Something was burning. He sniffed some more. In the distance, a funnel cloud of smoke rose from the center of the island. Slowly, the eerie blackness of the smoke began to cover the sky. The air was getting hotter, and something smelled as if it were burning. In horror, Aonair turned around.  
The trees, they were being eaten by burning pillars of heat!

When the breeze blew, he felt the amber flames drifting above his face. The heat seared his eyes.

 _What is it?! What's eating the grass and trees?_ As he fled from the dreadful heat, he watched the amber flames devour the once peaceful fields and trees, leaving behind nothing was black, horrible smelling kind of dust behind. Aonair ran and ran, leaping over burning trees and dodging ashes. The fire was spreading.

 _The canal, I have to find the canal!_

Surely the flames couldn't follow him there?

Faster and faster he paced. What would happen if he couldn't find a way out of this fiery trap? Hopelessness began to grown inside of him. He cried out for help, but there was no one to hear.

By now, the whole island seemed to be covered in flames. Everything was ruthlessly burned.

Suddenly, a fiery tree tumble in front of Aonair, he stopped to a complete halt just in time...or so he thought.

Unimaginable burning pain shot through his tail as the tree slammed on top of it.

 _"Oww! Pain! Fire! Help!"_ he screamed.

The pain was too unbearable. Worse than anything he had ever felt before. He felt a new desire. A desire for his pain to cease. A desire to end his suffering.

A desire to die.

Looking around quickly, Aonair bounded to a boulder, a boulder on a cliffside. His bounds to the cliff seemed to be in slow motion. Aonair hadn't lived very long. What was giving up by killing himself? Not much. He was just a lone pup, wondering the wilderness with a small chance of survival. His death would make no difference, no change in this big world. He would be with his beloved mother and brothers. He was meant to join them anyway.

With the faint clicks of Aonair's claws against the boulder, he plunged from the fire, from his life. In midair, he closed his eyes, welcoming death.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6**

 **Raging River**

Hundreds of thoughts spun through his head as he tumbled to his death. He had expected to plunge into the hard ground beneath, and then it would be all over. In a moment of unimaginable pain, he attempted abolish it in the quickest way possible. Death. Eyes sealed shut, welcoming his demise, head spinning faster and faster, a lurch of regret tugging at him. And then...

Impact.

Pain.

Relief.

Relaxing.

Chilly.

Cool Currents, drifting through his fur.

Was this what dying was like? He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. But he could feel, and he felt... like he was drifting. He fluttered his eyes open, seeing nothing but blue. They stung horribly, but not like fire. Like...like water...

 _But that's impossible,_ he thought, _there's not any water near that cliff. Could I be underwater?_

Senses surging back into his limbs, he struggled to find the surface. Bubbles exploded from his muzzle. He kicked to where he thought was upwards. His tail was still badly burned and partially crushed. The temporary desire to die was gone. He had to find the surface!

Now he could see it. The orange blazes wisping above the mysterious water. The powerful currents dragging branches and debris. Heart pumping wildly, he kicked and pushed and swam. He could already feel the glorious air pouring into his lungs! Just before his head burst above the surface, Aonair began to feel dizzy; chest feeling like it was being crushed.

The first breaths he took while paddling through the fire scene were horrific. The once lovely island now burned in agony. Dark smoke rose above the air. Smaller fires burned what still remained. The water was turning cloudy with ash. And the waves carrying him seemed to be growing stronger.

Scared and wounded, the pup clumsily clung to a lump of wood floating in the water. His eyes and throat felt a bit better from the smoke after drifting underwater for a few minutes, but pain from his tail, burns and bruises lingered. Exhaustion crept into his little body. He was tired. He was hurt. But he held on, sticking his muzzle in the air and kicking his torso above the water.

Finally, Aonair regained his sense of direction. The harsh, gushing current softened. He kept his claws dug into the branch as he let his body go limp. For a second his drifted, allowing the ashes and soot to creep from his pelt like sand. Then, he hauled his head above the branch to figure out where he was. The river that had caught him from his death was steadily pulling him away from the island. As the current cast him out further, the island grew smaller and smaller. By now, the shiny, colorful bit of paradise was now a pile of rubble and ashes with clouds of dust and smoke rising from it. Aonair wasn't _too_ attached to the island, but he thought it was depressing to see something so beautiful die such a painful death.

 _It's ok. The island doesn't have a soul, or feelings. I was one of the only things that depended on this place. I was going to leave later today, anyway, so it shouldn't matter to me that it's gone now. So why do I feel so sad about the island being destroyed?_ He thought. He couldn't help but feeling sorry for all the tiny animals, the pygrats, squirrels and rabbits that suffocated, or lost their homes to fire. The fish that would painfully die in the boiling, ash-cloudy pools that were once their sanctuaries. And espeacially the gorgeous feathered songbirds of scarlet, blue and green. They would sing such beautiful songs. Now they had no home.

As Aonair began to shake, both from the freezing water and his sorrow, he noticed the red, amber cliffs from where he had started. The scrublands.

 _Were the cliffs always that high?_ They seemed different in his memory.

He couldn't find the spot were he had attempted to fly and had fallen. But the daunting memory was still fresh in his mind. The terrifying feeling of freefalling. The painful twist of his paw as he crashed into scaly back of the fish. The brief, blissful feeling of flight. If only it hadn't ended so badly.

The cold seawater was now unpleasantly seeping into his tawny fur, making him feel soggy and wet.

Aonair turned his muzzle to the direction the current was pulling him. Along the shoreline of red sandy slopes was a string of smaller islands. After that, there was what looked like a mainland, grassy and wooded hills. Nothing like Aonair had ever seen before. What would he do then?

 _I know what I'll do,_ he thought, _I'll go-_

Aonair was snapped from his thoughts by sweet, short chirps. Looking up from the gurgling waves, the pup saw dozens of birds swooping and swirling away from the suffocating smoke. At first sight, they appeared to be lost. But Aonair saw that they were headed for the new land, of grasses and trees. Aonair was drifting towards this new land as well. Soon he would wash up on shore. It was comforting to know the sweet birds would still sing to him in the coming, lonely nights.

By now, the sun was setting on deadly red sky, as if the world was mourning the loss of the kind, nurturing, Island of the Pygrats.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7**

 **Gravis**

Night was upon the bay.

Aonair clung to his log. With every second, he became more tired. He stiffed a yawn as the cool, night water swished above his neck. His eyelids drooped. Then his head shot up as he jerked back awake.

 _I can't fall asleep. I have to get to land._

Relief washed through him as he saw trees appearing to come closer. Eagerly, he paddled with his remaining strength towards the land. He didn't care how dark the woods looked, or that he'd never been in thick, wooded places before.

Sooner than he imagined, Aonair washed up on the sandy shore feeling soaked to the bone. He was freezing, shivering with his fur pressed against the sand.

Warily, he dragged himself into the undergrowth to protect himself. Sleep came easy that night, despite the pain, and feeling cold. Dark, wretched thoughts cloaked his mind that wary night. His head and his wounds throbbed, and only slept for so much at a time. Aoanir longed to be dry and warm, to have some fresh water or a proper shelter. Even he when he did manage to drift off, frightening visions and dreams of fire would shake him awake. Some company would be nice. But he only had himself to talk to.

 _It's been night for so long. It's so cold, and windy. I wish I still had my brothers, and my mom_

" _Why_ did you have to leave me?" he pitifully whispered into his paws.

And with squinting, teary eyes, Aonair finally fell into the deepest sleep of his life

The next morning, the sunlight splotched over Aonair's matted, muddy pelt. In a rustling breeze, the pup awoke with a start. His head felt better. But his burns still stung horribly from being soaked in salty water. Especially his tail, where the fur was burned away and left terrible red scars.

As he climbed through the undergrowth, leaves rustled as shrubs and grasses were crushed under his delicately moving paws. The golden sun lit up the forest, shining off vibrant green leaves and moss. The giant, thick, damp trees astounded Aonair. (They were very different from the rare, scrawny ones in the desert.) Humid mist hung in the air. And scattered in the bushes and grasses were tiny, brightly colored blossoms. He was rather curious of them and their bright colors. He simply loved the petals, resembling the colors of dawn.

Aonair padded through this pretty forest, sniffing the air. He could smell that a stream was near. He hurried through the bushes, cracking twigs with every step. Then he stopped His big blue eyes widened at the sight of a perfectly hidden, crystal-blue stream.

"Water," he rasped out loud, taking a nice long sip. Then he rested for a moment, listening only to the gushing of the little waterfall, breathing the fresh, cool air. His eyes flowed with interest when he noticed...some kind of bird gliding across the water.

 _What the heck it that?_ He narrowed his eyes.

 _It looks a bit like a scrub goose, but...different._ He thought. Yes, the bird was quite different indeed. Its feathers were full, brown and white, and the strange creature had a curious green head. But it was peaceful—this whole place was peaceful.

Relaxing. So quiet. He sat up straight, watching his little stream. _So peaceful..._

Suddenly, a sharp scent hit his nose. It smelled like prey!

 _Prey..._ He thought. Lupus, he hadn't tasted real meat since he lived in the scrublands! His wounds still hurt, but eagerly followed the trail, his nose pointed in its direction. Aonair's pace grew faster. He found a clump of red fur snagged on branch. Whatever it was, he was getting close. Heart pumping, he raced behind the animal's trail. A creaking twig meters in front of him had him suddenly stop in his tracks. He perked his ears. He could barely see the creature, but could detect its every movement. Now he could see its red fur, creeping through the undergrowth, munching on berries. _Like prey,_ snorted Aonair silently.

Aonair closed in, closed in, preparing to pounce.

 _So this is what it's like to hunt. Just like grown-up wolves! Just like mother._

With a twinge of pride, Aonair pounced! A well-aimed blow, he wrapped his jaws around the red creature's neck and pinned it down. For a moment, he felt triumph!

But as fast as a snake, the creature swiftly kicked Aonair and snapped at his ear. Startled by the creature's retaliation, Aonair regained his balance and dove back into the creature's stinky fur.

Now that he could see it up close, Aonair realized how much bigger this thing was than he thought...and that this might not have been a desirable choice of prey. It might have even been bigger than him...

Flicking its black ears, the creature fought back viciously, using swift kicks and sharp, tearing bites. In the scuffle, blood splattered (Mostly form Aonair) across the earthy ground as the two rolled across it. Aonair shrieked as it dug its teeth into his fuzzy ear. He pulled away, leaving a large nick.

Then, the red creature grabbed Aonair by his scruff and tossed him against a rock like a piece of prey!

Winded, Aonair slowly looked up helplessly as the creature closed in for the kill, its sinister white teeth bared.

Just as the creature was about to pounce, an enormous, rusty-furred shape crashed into the creature! It cried out with a high-pitched _yelp!_

Aonair just stayed there, crouched down in fear. What was _this_? Another horrible monster to rip him to pieces?

The monster chomped onto the creature's leg with an unnerving _crack,_ then tossed it aside. Yelping with defeat, it limbed away as quickly as it could.

Then, it turned on Aonair. He tried to make himself look as small as possible.

"What do think you're doing, you little _rat?_ _Come to steal food from my forest_?" he snarled, blood dripping from his jaws. He had fierce amber eyes. Bad scars marred his face. Brindled-russet fur surrounding nicked ears. And he looked lean, and hard-muscled...built for killing.

"You _..._ you _...you're a wolf_!" stammered Aonair.

"Good observation, runt," he growled through bared fangs, "Now, who are you? And how did you get here? _This is_ my _forest_!" The russet wolf bared his yellow fangs.

"I...I _...I don't know_!" whimpered Aonair, starting to cry, "I was...I... I didn't...I was just _hungry!"_

The anger melted from the wolf's face. His scars didn't look as scary when he wasn't scowling. The wolf stood there for a moment, as if he were observing the pup. Finally, he relaxed his shoulders and tail, clearing the sings of aggression. He sighed, looking down, then glancing at the sun before meeting Aonair's gaze.

"Tell me who you are," he growled softly.

"My...my name's Aonair," he stuttered.

The wolf cocked his head, "A strange name. Who are your parents?"

"They...they were desert wolves. I...I used to live in the mountainous scrublands."

The wolf's eyes widened with interest.

"You think my name is strange?" pressed Aonair.

"Why yes," choked the wolf, "In the language of the desert packs, it means 'independent.' I've never heard of someone calling their pup that before," he shook the creature's blood from his muzzle, "You're from the _mountainous scrublands?_ That's a long way."

"I came across the water. There...there was a fire on one of the islands,"

The wolf pointed his muzzle toward the beach he washed up on, "So that's what that was," he mumbled in his gruff voice. Sympathy glowed behind his eyes as he glanced back at Aonair, "Come with me, young pup. Tell me what you've been through."

And so, The russet wolf lead Aonair deeper into the forest. Aonair tripped and limbed from the injuries. Did he trust the strange wolf, that he'd known for a few moments? Of course not! But right now, he was his only chance of survival. They traveled for a few hours, and then the clouds came rolling in. Within a few minutes, it was pouring. Finally, the wolf pulled back a massive, green fern stem. The skinny leaves tickled Aonair's black nose as the two crept inside.

Aonair shivered, his cuts feeling sore. He stood in amazement as he entered to cozy little den. It was roomy, yet small enough to feel safe from the elements. In one corner, pelts were piled into a comfortable-looking nest. In another, coals, substances and jars were neatly filed and stacked. The wolf lifted a mouthful of coals, then dropped them into the center of the den.

"Um, sir...wolf?"

"Hmm-mm?"

"I don't think you've told me your name."

He met his amber gaze, "Call me Gravis, if you wish."

"Ok, Gravis."

Gravis stretched out his brindled-russet pelt.

"So tell me...Aonair. What such business did you have with a fox?" The coals began to glow orange, warming the den.

"Well...I told you, I was looking for food," he turned away with embarrassment.

"Ha! Pathetic. If you had the slightest bit of sense, you would turned tail a d run at the first sight of red fur. Seriously, where are those parents of yours?" Gravis sat down on his pelt and looked at the pup expectantly.

Aonair studied the coals, "My mother died after my brothers disappeared. Then my...my father forced me to live on my own." He was hesitant to call him his _father._ Gravis tucked his ears.

"Well, that's...that's tough," he growled, sorrow lacing his eyes, "You say you came across the water. All by your self."

Aonair then continued to tell the Gravis his tale. Starting with the terrifying first moments of survival. Then about climbing down the ravine, and finding the Blood Den. He explained how had tried to fly to the island, but fell, and hurt his now-healed paw. Gravis listened with interest at every word. Espeacially when Aonair told him about his month on The Island of the Pygrats, the fire, and finally, washing up of the shore of the forest. When Gravis asked why his name was Aonair, he gave a full and honest answer.

"...And the second morning in the Blood Den, I decided I signify my new life with a new name. So after I called myself Aonair, because I felt independent."

"New name? You renamed yourself?" interrupted the Gravis, "What was you name before?"

Aonair shifted his blue eyes, "Before? I...it's hard to remember...it was so long ago," he raised his hackles, "Wait! Yes! I remember. It was...I think it was Goutu."

Gravis smiled warmly, "I see. I too, long ago, changed my name for purpose of independence. Such a great, and solemn feeling, know that you, yourself, has defined your own coat, your own soul. That you, not someone else, decided what to known as,"

The two lay comfortably in their pelts silently, staring into the coals.

"What was _your_ name before you changed it?" pressed Aonair.

Gravis frowned, then picked up a dark sheet of woven black wool, "I think that's enough for now. You're injured. You need rest. Get some sleep, little eagle."

With that, he dropped the wool over the coals, darkening the room.

Aonair curled up, warm in his pelt. Goutu meant "little eagle" in the desert language. He glanced at his dull wings. He hadn't untucked them since the fall.

Nonetheless, Aonair breathed back to sleep, and for the first time in a long time, feeling the comfort of company.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 8**

 **Be Patient**

 _It was a blissful, humid dawn on the scrublands. Miles and miles of nothing but amber hills and shining mountains. The sun seemed to celebrate the passing of the cold night, and beginning of another scorching day._

 _That particular morning was quite uneventful. Beautiful sun, occasional flock gliding over._

 _On a cliff side, a ragged-pelted, tawny she-wolf stood tall into the wind, letting the breeze flow through her fur. She unveiled feathers, creating an epic display of her wings._

 _Below her, a trio of young pups scuffled. One was gray with dark patches like shadows, one was solid dark gray, and the last was tawny with a distinctive spot on his back._

 _"Mommy! Dante pushed me!" whined the patched one._

 _"Erik started it!" barked the solid gray one._

 _"I'm hungry," grumbled the tawny one._

 _The she-wolf gazed at her litter, frustrated, "In case you pups didn't know, I didn't drag you three up here just so you could squabble," she growled._

 _"Why did we come here again?" yawned Dante, shoving the tawny pup._

 _"Be patient, and I'll show you," said Holliet, the she-wolf softly, "And don't push your brother."_

 _Together they climbed the plateau, one paw in front of the next. The heat of the day was starting to set in and reflect off the miles of sand._

 _"How much further?" gasped Erik, panting._

 _"Not far!" called Holliet._

 _Soon after, they reached the top of the plateau. The pups' blue, gazing eyes stared in awe at the landscape._

 _"Whoa," breathed Dante._

 _Dante outstretched his wings, "Mom, when can I fly? I see you, Dad, Owen, and Meirge fly all the time."_

 _"Soon," murmured Holliet._

 _Dante stomped his paw, "But why?"_

 _The third tawny pup, Goutu, could think of nothing but flight right now. This place was beautiful, red-amber hills and ravines. Oh, how he just wanted to jump, and glide, and...fly. While his family talked, Goutu silently outstretched his own gray wings, haunching down, preparing to jump._

 _Suddenly, the horizon began to cloud...as if something big were coming. The horizon grumbled. The ground began to shake. Waves of dust and red sand were being blown over the desert!_

 _"Pups! RUN! Take cover!" barked Holliet, startled. Goutu immediately jumped and smashed himself into a dent in the side of the plateau._

 _Erik and Dante just stared at her, fear and confusing swimming in their eyes. The sandstorm came closer at an alarming rate, the surging winds already burred with grains of sand. Holliet bucked over her pups, just before the sand hit,_

 _"Do you not have ears?! Follow your brother!_ RUN _!"_

Aonair's heart lurched as he jumped out of his pelt, blue eyes wide with fear.

 _Just a dream...just a dream._

Gravis continued working in his stores, not even flinching, "Hey, Aoair, could you bring me the coal chips I dropped?"

 _Well, good morning to you too,_ thought Aonair angrily. "Fine. And my name's _Aonair._ "

"Sorry. _Aonair_ , could you bring me the coal chips I dropped?"

Aonair sighed heavily, scowling. He had been in the care of this...lunatic for nearly two weeks now. At first, it was rather pleasant staying with Gravis. He would spend fifteen minutes at a time tending a wound. He shared his food and water, and kept his pelt clean. But the better Aonair got, the bossier Gravis seemed to be. Now he often forced him to do seemingly useless chores.

"And then," continued Gravis, "just take that woven wool in the corner, and dust it out. Otherwise the pit becomes impossible to clean."

Aonair stomped to the corner, his untidy pelt swaying with his movements. For a moment he simply stared at the wool. It was matted and knotted, some kind of gray-beige color. It had probably once been white, though. Green specks of mold scattered across the surface. It seemed to taunt him. Finally, he strode defiantly back to Gravis, ears brimming with annoyance.

"Gravis, all you've done since I've gotten here is make me do stupid things for you! I'm not doing it this time. I don't want to. I refuse to be your slave," barked Aonair.

Gravis maintained his concentration, not even glancing at Aonair.

"All I've done is make you do 'stupid things?' Are you sure about that? What about feeding you the five days you were to feeble to stand, or giving you medicine, and tending to your wounds? If anything, you owe me."

Aonair's hackles rose. _How dare he_?

"But don't worry. I'm not that kind of wolf. I do think, though, that all pups should do some kind of work. It's good for them. But if you think I'm a straight-up bully, you are free to leave."

He stepped aside, revealing the daunting exit of the den. The memory of the fox, and that horrible night alone came back to Aonair's mind. _Gravis knows I need him,_ he thought, _why is he using this against me?_

Scowling with hatred, Aonair slowly picked up the wool and did as Gravis instructed. The revolting taste made him gag. Aonair's jaws tightened as Gravis hardly neither noticed nor cared. When he finished, he spat out the disgusting wool. Bits of dust and mold lingered in his teeth, making him drool and squint.

He stormed to his pelt, sat down straight, and glared at Gravis. Ten minutes later, Gravis sighed, "I take it you are not happy."

"I'm bored," growled Aonair, "There's nothing to do in this mud hole. And no, I don't feel like polishing more jars for you."

Aonair looked down on him. His scarred amber eyes seemed to glow, "I remember being your age. Spirited and rebellious. Fine. I'll take you out and show you how hunting's done. But promise me one thing."

"What?"  
"Patience," whispered Gravis' raspy voice, "Don't take it lightly. But that's all I'm asking."

A moment of silence passed. But finally, Aonair met his gaze, "Fine. I'll be patient."

"Good. Then follow," smirked Gravis. With that, he took off like a squirrel out the exit, causing the fern to whip Aonair's face.

"Ouch!" yipped Aonair. But he sped up, keeping at Gravis' heels. They burst into the fresh forest. The atmosphere became darker as they plunged deeper into the trees. Aonair huffed and puffed. He struggled to keep up with the lean-muscled wolf. He ducked under branches. He hopped over stumps. He wove through the thick trees, dodging them.

It was a sunny late morning, and the air was bright and humid. The moist air made him heave harder and harder as they sprinted. Aonair wondered wildly how Gravis was navigating so well through the thick forest. Almost as it he knew every root, rock, and tree. Anything to help him ignore the pain burning in his legs.

They rushed past ferns and moss, trees and floral. It was nice to take a nice breath of fresh air after being cooped up in a den for a week.

And then, out of the blue, Gravis stopped.

"Watch out!"

Startled, Aonair crashed into him enough force to knock him over. Gravis tumbled into a bush, rustling and snapping, " _Oof_ ," he mumbled, with a mouthful of leaves.

"Ilk! Yuck! Spla! Yes, nice job, pup. Mind watching where you're going next time?" coughed Gravis.

"Oh, sorry!" Aonair helped him up.

Burrs and leaves clung to his pelt, making him look ridiculous. Aonair couldn't help but grin and giggle.

"Very funny," Gravis stood and analyzed the forest. His amber eyes darted and scanned the misty clearing.

Aonair looked around nervously, "What? What are you looking for?"

Silence.

"Gravis?"

"Not to worry. I'm just deciding whether this is a good place to start begin hunting," he looked down at him, "You probably just frightened anything within a tracking's distance with your little...slip up."

"Sorry."

"Don't worry. We can probably pick up a scent anywhere in a river's length," said Gravis as he stepped through the grass. He pointed his snout in the sunlit air, "This is the first step of hunting, pup. Scout the area of any scents that seem like prey."

"Last time I did that, I ended up getting mauled," said Aonair.

"That's true. But that's how you met me."

Aonair rolled his eyes, "Oh, well thank goodness, for foxes," he muttered sarcastically.

Gravis pointed in the opposite shadowy direction, "You look for scents over there. Yip if you smell anything."

Aonair scowled. Nonetheless, he crept into the opposite direction, sniffing. At the first whiff, he detected a plethora of unfamiliar scents. This would be much easier on the island or desert, where he knew what smelled like what. But here, in the forest, he couldn't recognize anything!

He looked back at Gravis with confusion, "But I don't know any of these scents!"

"Then learn them," said Gravis, not looking back.

Aonair huffed with frustration. How could he do anything if Gravis didn't teach him first?

He swung back around and dipped his nose into the green grasses. The more he sniffed, the more vivid the scents became. His blue eyes lit up.

Yes, yes he could smell it! In his patch he could pick up...rain, leaves, mold, lichen, but no animals.

Mimicking Gravis, he wandered aimlessly through the soft grasses. He could smell lots of new things...some smelled like wood, insects, decaying leaves, moss, mildew...

"Gravis!" barked Aonair, his voice echoing through the trees. The pup felt his heart lurch when nothing happened. But moments later, a russet pelt grew visible. Aonair was amazed by how silently he could move through the grass.

"So? What is it? Did you find something?"

"I can't find anything! This whole area literally has no animals."

Gravis sighed, "There are animal scents everywhere. Don't give up after the first few minutes. Remember your promise," with that, Gravis turned and galloped back into the woods.

Back to scouting, Aonair's chest was tightening with frustration. How old was he now? 3, maybe 4 months? He was way to young to be doing pack-work. What did Gravis think—

" _Yip!"_

Aonair turned and stared in the direction it came from. He froze for a moment, and hesitantly jogged through the earthy woods to where he thought he heard it come from.

In the misty clearing, Gravis stood tall, tail up, and looking over his matted shoulder.

"Come, Aonair!" he barked softly. Aonair came closer, ducking his head below his shoulders.

"Can you smell what I scented?" asked Gravis.

Aonair sniffed and sniffed, but couldn't seem to pick up—

His thought was interrupted when a strong scent hit his nose. It was similar to the scent of a clay hare, only laced with vegetation instead of, well, clay.

He looked up at Gravis, "Yes, a hare of some sort."

"That's a rabbit scent. I told you you could figure it out. Now, can you figure out which way it went?"

Unsure, Aonair sniffed around the area, trying to see the scents more clearly.

"Um, I think, that way?" Aonair pointed downhill.

"Nope. Close. That's the way it came from. See, when ground-scenting, you have to find two separate tracks: Where it came from, and where it went."

Again, Aonair analyzed the scent. He pointed north.

Gravis smiled, "Good. Now, we track the rabbit. Hope the running at the beginning was a good warm-up for you."

In a line, they galloped behind the scent. Aonair noticed that Gravis was doing what he could to keep downwind of where he thought the rabbit might be. As they tracked, Aonair had a chance to truly notice the how pure, lovely, and pleasant the woodlands are. All that could be heard was chirping, gentle breezes, and the flow of water.

Aonair was also picking up several different other scents he hadn't before, rodents, seeds, birds,

Finally, they halted. By now, Gravis only mouthed or signaled to him. They must be close.

And then, Aonair could see it. A brown, furry, plump rabbit was nibbling on grasses. The two wolves crept closer, hardly making a sound. They were only strides away...

 _Snap._

The rabbit stared in their direction when Aonair stepped on a twig. It twitched its nose and took off.

"Chase it, Aonair! CHASE IT!"

Aonair hurtled after it, sprinting at its heels. Aonair was defiantly faster, but the trees were hard to navigate through.

As the chase turned downhill, the rabbit sprung with all its energy.

And then, the unthinkable happened. Aonair outstretched his wings, power-flapped, and with swift aim, landed directly on the rabbit. He wrapped his jaws around his first real kill. He searched for Gravis, and spotted him at the top of the hill, his mouth open with surprise.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9**

 **Secrets**

Aonair just stood at the bottom of the leafy hill, the rabbit hanging from his jaws. Gravis stared from the top of the hill, astounded.

"Wha? How?" he stuttered. For a silent moment, they gazed into one another's eyes, both filled with shock.

Aonair dropped the rabbit, "Um, I, well..."

"That," interrupted Gravis, "was incredible!" barked Gravis, "You didn't tell me you could do that! That pack of yours must have taught you _something_!"

Aonair glanced at his outstretched wings, "You...didn't notice I had wings?"

"Well, of course I noticed your wings. I'm not blind. I just...didn't think a pup _twice_ your age could pull off a move like that!"

"I was lucky," muttered Aonair, looking away.

"Oh, come on. What happened to Mr. arrogant? That was something. Where did you learn that?" The russet wolf shuffled down the hill, rustling leaves and shrubs.

"I didn't. I've never done that before," breathed Aonair. His tawny chest began to swell with pride.

"You're kidding."

"No."

Gravis stepped away, amber eyes shining, "Well, that's quite...impressive," he glanced at his kill, "Eat up. Then we can continue."

Gravis started back up the hill. Aonair's eyes widened.

"Wait! Gravis! What do you mean continue? I already caught something!" called Aonair.

"What do I mean? I mean, precisely, that if no one's ever taught you that, and you've never done it before, then I have every right to assume that you really did get lucky. Therefore, this lesson is not over. Either eat it or bury it, and then we'll start tracking another one."

Aonair kicked the rabbit, "There's no pleasing you, is there?" he snarled.

"No pleasing me? _No pleasing me?_ Did you not hear my praise?" At Gravis' words, Aonair took a pace back. He immediately wished he could take back what he said.

"I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Ok, ok, ok, I get it. I get it. But just know,"

Aonair groaned, bracing himself for a lecture.

"I'm teaching you how to hunt. Not fly. That was a brilliant move, but when you learn to hunt, you don't start by catching one and calling it a day. You'll only learn how to do if you do it twice. Then three times. Then four. Got it?"

Aonair nodded grimly. Gravis began to circle him.

"Great. Kill rush technic is one thing. But you can't use that aim or strategy if you don't find your prey, first. So, you're going to try again. But this time, you need to scent it out yourself."

The two of them spent the rest of the evening tracking and hunting. Patience ran short in Aonair, but kept with his promise. The pup caught another pair of rabbits, mostly under the guidance of Gravis.

As the forest grew silent, and the sky turned to the color of flame, they trudged through the woods back to the fern den, where they enjoyed their catches. Aonair immediately plunged his jaws into the warm, juicy meat. Tearing and slurping away, he feasted after a long, afternoon's work. The two wolves talked. They laughed. They told stories. They talked about survival, hunting, and much about Aonair's adventure. But, Aonair remained intrigued about the past of Gravis, and longed to know.

"Gravis," mumbled Aonair, gulping down the last of his rabbit, "I've told about my journey, every paw step of it. But you've never told me hardly anything about you, other than you used to have another name."

The previously loud, noisy den reduced to the cracking and sizzling of the coals. The red light they shown onto Gravis' fierce appearance. His focused eyes seemed to melt into heat itself.

"Actually," he began, "We aren't that different, when it comes to the paths we've walked."

His gazed turned to the coals, "But your brief story is full of...joy. Spirit. Imagination. Strength," he paused, "hope. My story, as any would think, isn't."

Gravis met his fiery gaze, "Revenge. Anger. Fear,"

"Death." He closed his eyes.

His solemn face gave nothing away. He glanced back at Aonair.

"Let's just say my tale isn't worth telling. It does nothing but bring fear and sorrow, things I swore I would leave behind."

"So, it's secret," finished Aonair.

"Yes," whispered Gravis, in a raspy voice, "But, I have another question about you, pup."

Aonair perked his ears.

"What were the names of your parents?"

Aonair's face swelled with emotion. His blue eyes grew wider than ever. His parents? Each name brought plenty of different negative emotions, feeling extraordinarily differently about each of them. Hate. Resent. Guilt. Woefulness. Regret. Sorrow. Fearful. Cold.

Aonair most certainly remembered. Their names weren't engraved into his mind; rather they grew, like vines, into his thoughts and emotions. He would never forget. Yet, he lifted his chin, met Gravis' gaze, and said it as simply as he could, "I don't remember.

Gravis chuckled, shaking his head, "Of course you don't. I understand. But that's why we changed our names, isn't it?"

Aonair cocked his head, confused.

"To forget a past that no pup should endure."

The two of them, both Gravis and Aonair, were lost in thought as they stared into the coals. They burned a brilliant orange. Then, they turned red. And then black, how they started. Gravis stretched out and pulled a cloth over the pit.

"Night," muttered Aonair, lying in his pelt.

Gravis nodded, then curled into his pelt, asleep.


End file.
